


Love Me Tender, Love Me Sweet

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love Potion/Spell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Faraday's made some stupid mistakes over the course of his life, but using a love spell he won off the Pigeon boys in a poker game might just be the stupidest of them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Without [swingsetindecember](http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/), this wouldn't exist because I have been enabled. 2nd chapter is likely to come mid-day tomorrow or the day after, pending final edits and scene tweaking, but I hope this is enjoyed!

“All right, all right, stop bullshitting me and put some money in the pot,” Faraday complains, flipping the bird to the so-called Pigeon Brothers, who round out his little quintet of poker players. It’s become a regular thing for the stuntmen on the lot to get together and play poker while they’re waiting to shoot and while it’s not unusual for them to bet with weird things (it’s really easy to steal props, that’s all Faraday’s saying), a _love spell_ is a special kind of bullshit. 

“We swear, it works,” the little Pigeon says. “Nabbed it off a bonafide witch.”

“Nah, it wasn’t a witch, it was someone down in Louisiana, tea-leaf reader, real hocus pocus sort.”

“She was a witch, the old school kind from those Grimm books, we practically had to rip it from her hands!”

“You’re both idiots,” Faraday cuts them off before this can devolve into something stupider and they have to abandon the game. Earl and his buddy don’t seem to be half as bothered by this _insanity_ as Faraday is, and truthfully, if he doesn’t say yes, he’s probably going to have to put up with a lot more whining than he wants to deal with. Why the hell couldn’t he be on Goody’s shoot with Red and Billy, that’s what he wants to know. Why he’s gotta suffer on this second-rate Blackstone-produced bullshit is beyond him. 

He knows one thing for sure and that’s the fact that if he wins a few more hands of poker, he might end up making himself feel a little better. 

“Fine, whatever,” he concedes, gesturing for the Pigeons to put it in the pot, which they do to match the cash and the bottle of whiskey already there. 

To no one’s surprise, Faraday wins the hand. 

He’d better have, seeing as he’d made sure he had an ace up his sleeve as insurance, not that he’d needed it against men the likes of Earl and his cronies. Really, it’s the whiskey he’s after, but when the others leave for a smoke-break, Faraday reaches over for the tiny scroll that bears the supposed love spell, a warning written on top:

_Let these words bring you the heart and soul of those you desire, but ensure that your beloved does not stray far as you recite these words_.

Then it’s just a whole bunch of cockamamie bullshit on the parchment. He should throw it away, he really should, but there’s two minds of thought going on in Faraday’s brain right now. The first is that it’d be a real good gag-gift for Sam, just to poke fun at the fact that he’s been striking out a lot lately in the women department.

The second and infinitely more dangerous path of thought goes like this: _Maybe I could get Vasquez to want me back_.

That’s the thought that’s about to be his undoing, but Faraday doesn’t know it just yet.

* * *

In Faraday’s opinion, seven AM is an hour designed to torture people. 

Vasquez has a weekly yoga session in the park at seven in the morning and if it weren’t for the fact that Faraday is confident the yoga mothers would move in on him given the first opportunity, he’d be sleeping in a comfortable bed. In his ideal world, Vasquez is right there with him, but no matter how much charm he pours on, the man doesn’t ever give in. Clearly, for all that Vasquez is a talented lawyer, he’s blind, deaf, and dumb to all of Joshua Faraday’s many talents. 

Yoga doesn’t happen to be one of them, especially not when Faraday’s poker game had stretched past four in the morning and the drinks kept on being poured.

He’d first met Vasquez when the man had defended one of Faraday’s fellow stuntmen against a studio that wasn’t taking the necessary precautions to keep their people safe. He’d gone to court to support his friend and stayed because Vasquez was a holy terror when he was questioning the other side’s witnesses and his ass looked unbelievably good in his bespoke suits. From there, a terribly beautiful friendship was born and Faraday figures that if he keeps hounding after Vasquez, eventually the man will give in and fall for him. 

Groaning, Faraday slides his sunglasses up from where they’re slipping on his nose as he collapses into child’s pose, fumbling with his zippo so he can light his cigarillo (he says _his_ , but it’s one of Vasquez’s that got stolen), intending to sneak in a smoke while he tries to let the ground absorb him whole.

“Take this seriously,” Vasquez hisses at him when he passes with his yoga mat, which is fair, considering Faraday hasn’t actually moved in probably five minutes and also hasn’t taken much seriously in his whole life.

“I’m kneeling in my nirvana, fuck you,” he says, flipping an upside down bird at the man he’s currently trying to win over through charm and guile and showing off his ass. What could he possibly be doing wrong? He groans when Vasquez swats at him and doesn’t even go for his ass, but hits his shoulder instead. 

In response, he shifts into corpse’s pose and smokes until there’s nothing left of the cigarillo, at which point he falls asleep. 

He wakes up to a pair of annoyingly attractive lean fingers poking him in his sternum, making him jolt upwards like a man who’s been shocked before collapsing back on the ground, staring up to see Vasquez leaning over him, looking heartily disapproving and annoyed. 

Good, things are normal, then.

“Coffee,” Faraday groans, reaching out with both hands, wiggling his fingers. He knows, already, that Vasquez is going to sigh heavily and then haul him up, because no matter what the man says, he’s a sucker for Faraday’s pretty eyes. Who isn’t? Vasquez does exactly as Faraday had expected, keeping an arm casually wrapped around Faraday’s shoulders (which is one of those actions of his that gets filed into the folder labelled ‘Mixed Signals Vasquez Keeps Sending’).

“Why do you keep coming?” Vasquez asks, as they pack up their things. Which, really, is to say that Vasquez packs up his things tidily and Faraday just messily shoves his shit into a bag because it’s early and he’s hungover. Vasquez is bitching about Faraday’s messy habits per normal, reaching for Faraday and grasping him by a fistful of his shirt to tug him near. While he’s complaining about how Faraday’s mother raised him, he reaches into Faraday’s front pocket for one of his cigarillos, lighting it up and smoking greedily, his tirade dying off now that his mouth is preoccupied with something else. 

Instead of answering all these crude lies about his mother, Faraday makes a detour to say goodbye to the girls, always eager to keep his options open. “Ladies,” he says with a wink and a grin. “See you same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” one of the women promises. As Faraday’s heading off, he catches the tail end of something else, something along the lines of, “Wish my husband would come do yoga with me,” and if he had a lick of sense in him, he’d see the comment for what it was, but as it stands, Faraday just assumes she’s been staring at his ass all morning.

Well, Vasquez is probably the distracting presence that the ladies are wanting to use their husbands as a shield against, seeing as it’s near impossible to watch Vasquez doing yoga in those tight pants of his and _not_ feel an inevitable bolt of lust. 

He reaches out to take both bags from Vasquez as they head to the local coffeeshop, Faraday’s head still pounding from the hangover. Maybe today’s the day. Maybe he’ll stop fucking up so badly and he won’t even need that ridiculous love spell that he won off the Pigeons last night. Who knows, maybe he’ll feel lucky enough to take a shot. He should, he knows he should, because Vasquez being single isn’t something that lasts for very long and he’s not seeing anyone right now. 

In the time that Faraday’s known him, there’s been two Marias, a Mario, and if you believe rumors, then even goddamn Teddy Q, paralegal extraordinaire, managed to get to second base with the tall drink of water currently smoking obscenely in front of him. Faraday’s always hated Teddy for that, even if they’d both been super drunk after a long case.

“Coffee,” Faraday reiterates with a grunt, because he still doesn’t think he’s going to be alive until he gets some caffeine in his system. Really, he wants some of the hair of the dog that bit him, but he’ll settle for what he can get. “From what I saw when I was awake, seems like you’re moving on to the advanced yoga shit,” he praises as he ambles alongside Vasquez. As always, Faraday chooses to walk just a few inches too close, giving him the opportunity to brush shoulders with Vasquez, the occasional press of hips. 

Sure, people might just say he’s touch starved, but there’s only one person’s touch he’s after right now.

“Partner yoga is next week,” Vasquez says, as if he doesn’t know how blatantly flirtatious that sounds. 

Faraday whines, lowly, because a, it sounds like harder yoga and he’s still barely able to master the corpse pose some days, and b, it also means that someone else is probably going to end up suspended on Vasquez’s feet or in his lap (it’s becoming very clear that Faraday really ought to pay more attention to proper yoga, because the kama sutra positions flashing through his mind definitely aren’t the real thing). 

“So, you should start to practice,” is what Vasquez says next. 

It leaves Faraday stuck frozen on the sidewalk, staring after him. That, in itself, ain’t a bad thing. One of the best views in the world is Vasquez leaving a room, doubly so when he’s wearing those yoga pants, but comments like those are his problem.

The man is a born flirt, to the point that his charming smiles are given to everyone, and he's heard Vasquez draw genuine laughter from a man like Sam Chisolm before. How the hell is Faraday supposed to know if he’s being serious or not? 

Also, fuck yoga. “You know I only come to butter up those beautiful wives you’ve been hanging around,” he blatantly lies as he catches up with a few brisk strikes, trying not to embarrass himself in public with a Vasquez-caused erection. He’s already suffered through that embarrassment before, during the car wash incident of ’15. 

Vasquez looks right through him, with that irritated and passive disbelief that he’s pretty sure comes natural to him. Faraday doesn’t need words to know that Vasquez thinks he's an idiot, but he’ll take that over lovelorn jackass. 

There’s no good that’ll come of Vasquez knowing the truth before Faraday himself figures it all out. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Vasquez snorts, clapping a hand on Faraday’s shoulder and not letting go as he steers him into the coffeeshop, being even more irritatingly attractive when he puts in orders for both of them and paying while Faraday is still digging out last night’s poker winnings to do the same. 

In the process, his fingers brush over that stupid scroll in his bag. Any other time, he’d tell Vasquez about it. They’d laugh and Vasquez would call Faraday a sucker for letting himself get swindled like that by the tall-tale-telling Pigeon brothers, no less. He should tell him, Faraday thinks. Vasquez is the best friend he never thought he’d deserve and he tells him everything, so why not tell him a story about accepting a poker raise in the form of a love spell? 

Trouble is, there might just be a shred of belief in him that’s keeping him silent. 

What if it’s real?

What if it works?

What if it could work on Vasquez and Faraday could get what he’s been after for _years_ without competition, worry, or the possibility of rejection and losing his best friend in one fell swoop? Hell, he’s sure that Vasquez would probably take him for a one-night tumble if he asks nicely enough, so maybe Faraday’s holding onto the scroll because it’s apparently a bonafide _love_ spell.

Faraday needs to shake himself out of this rut, because sitting here moping about how Vasquez ain’t in love with him isn’t going to do him any favors. Still, as he weaves stories about the night before, absently cutting his deck of cards while they drink their coffee, he omits the part about the love spell and instead complains for nearly forty-five minutes about the movie he’s working on. 

“No good?” Vasquez murmurs, in between indulgent sips of his Americano, breathing it in like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever smelled.

That’s complete bullshit, too, Vasquez has smelled Faraday just out of a fresh shower, so the coffee in his hands is second-best, if that. 

Faraday makes a so-so motion with his hands. “So far, so good,” he complains, because it's not like he’s high-profile like Red or Billy where he gets to choose his own films, but he still feels like he’s slumming it. “I’ll tell you what, though. I get to do demolition for one of the scenes and blow a few props to high heaven,” he shares, grinning like he’s still the eight-year-old kid who dreamed of blowing shit up. “Maybe if I’m lucky, it’ll catch one of the Pigeon brothers off-guard.”

Vasquez hums agreement, still deeply under the thrall of his coffee. 

“What about you?” Faraday prods. “That case of yours wrapping up okay?”

“After Bogue, no case is that hard,” Vasquez admits and if they weren’t inside, Faraday’s sure that Vasquez would’ve spit at the sound of that man’s name. Truthfully, Faraday feels like he owes a little to that man, seeing as that case had really solidified their little gang of friends. It’s a shame the man himself was such a reprobate that they can’t put him away again, but he’s the reason that Faraday and Vasquez had spent so many late nights together drinking and sharing secrets, jokes of their former conquests, and from that case, a beautiful friendship was born. “No, it’s…” He shrugs, the look of discontent on his face easy to read, if you’re Faraday.

“It’s boring,” he finishes the sentence for Vasquez. “You’re bored.”

“Maybe,” Vasquez admits. 

“Well, muchacho,” Faraday drawls, enjoying the way Vasquez flinches like he always does when Faraday mangles the Spanish language, “I got a feeling that your life will get real interesting soon enough.”

“Is that a promise?”

If the love spell in his pocket actually works, then Faraday’s got real lofty ideas about all the ways he aims to keep Vasquez entertained and they start and end with his high-thread-count sheets on his king sized bed.

“C’mon, since when is life boring when I’m around?” Faraday announces, knocking Vasquez’s shoe with his own under the table (and if he doesn’t happen to move his foot away after, so be it). “Quick game of cards before work?” he says, wiggling the deck in the air. 

Vasquez looks like he needs some convincing, like he’s thinking about going home and showering and abandoning Faraday’s charming company, which means he needs to sweeten the pot. 

“Loser buys drinks next time,” Faraday says, as if Vasquez doesn’t always buy them and insist that Faraday can get the next round.

Vasquez sighs reluctantly and Faraday knows he’s got his man. 

“One round of poker,” he agrees. “Tuesday, we’ll play the rest.” With that mischievous glint in his eye, he adds, “Strip poker, even,” and there goes Faraday’s concentration for a good half minute, because for all of Vasquez’s many talents, poker just ain’t one of them.

Goddamn, this man is going to be the death of Joshua Faraday and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t like the notion of going out that way.

* * *

That stupid scroll has been in Faraday’s possession for nearly a week and he hasn’t done anything with it. He should throw it out or just decide to give it to Sam as a joke, but something makes him hold onto it. It’s not like he needs the help, after all, Faraday’s got an apron proclaiming himself to be the World’s Greatest Lover and he stands by that fact, but for some reason, he can’t get his goddamn mouth to work right around Vasquez.

Instead of charming him, he slings insults. He gets too drunk and then he can’t do anything properly, because he’s a sloppy drunk and while Vasquez is a happy and willing drunk, Faraday wants them to remember it the next morning. Sometimes, Faraday thinks he’s going to do it and then Vasquez goes and has a one-night stand with some other _guero_ that looks uncomfortably nothing like him, which makes him worry that his lawyerly Mexican love doesn’t have a type.

They banter and flirt all the time and sure, Faraday could probably get him in bed. He’s not stupid enough to miss the fact that Vasquez seems plenty open to that, but he’s after more.

He hates that he hasn’t got a clue in hell what you’re supposed to do when you’re stupid in love with your best friend. Faraday’s own romantic history makes him too proud to go to his friends for advice, which is why he’s staring at a love spell in the bathroom while Vasquez putters around his kitchen to get things ready for Taco Tuesday.

“Joshua, don’t stick me with all the work again,” Vasquez complains loudly. “Finish touching yourself and get out here!”

“Just do it,” Faraday starts his motivational pep talk. “It’s not real, it’s just a stupid joke, you’re gonna read it and nothing will happen. Then, you can tell V all about it and make a move,” he tells his reflection. The other possibility, of course, is that it works and they spend the rest of Taco Tuesday gloriously naked while Faraday takes advantage of all the bendy positions Vasquez is clearly going to be a master of, thanks to all the yoga.

Faraday inhales sharply and shakes all the doubt out of his head as he smooths out the damn piece of parchment in front of him and starts rattling off words that sound like they’re really old, the kind where you can steal shit from a grave and it’s archaeology, not grave-robbing.

Trouble is, Faraday has wrapped himself up in his own head so badly that he’d been focused on Vasquez in his kitchen and a love spell in his hands. 

He hadn’t been listening to the soft click of the front door being opened or Vasquez greeting Emma with a kiss on the cheek, Teddy with a pat on the back, and Red, Billy and Sam talking about the wine. If he had been paying attention, he wouldn’t have recited a goddamn thing on the off-chance this love spell nonsense was real, but it’s done. 

Faraday’s holding his breath, but the air doesn’t spark around him, there’s no swelling music in the background, and most disappointingly, Vasquez doesn’t barge into the bathroom by shooting down the door and pinning Faraday to the bathroom sink. 

He knows he shouldn’t be disappointed that the sham spell turned out to be exactly that, but he's still pissed off. “Could’ve talked a bottle of whiskey out of those idiots,” he complains to himself, crumpling up the spell and throwing it in the trash. 

The only reason he doesn’t light it on fire is because the last time he did that, they lost the night while the fire department came and put out the fire (how the hell did he know Vasquez had thrown out his hairspray in Faraday’s trash?) and he’s not intending to ruin Taco goddamn Tuesday. 

Heading out of the bathroom, he nearly has a heart attack when he walks right into Vasquez.

“Jesus wept, what the fuck are you doing?” Faraday demands, even if his heart is beating rapidly at the prospect that his little love spell just works on a bit of a delayed timer and that this is it, this is the moment. He licks his lips eagerly, waiting for Vasquez to take him into his arms and admit that he’s an idiot for looking anywhere else. He doesn’t know if it’s any different than usual, but it feels like the air between them is charged. 

Vasquez is definitely staring at Faraday’s mouth and there’s not very much personal space between them, which makes his hopes crawl out from the pit he’d shoved them into, but then Vasquez has to ruin it by tearing his gaze away from Faraday’s lips and looking him in the eye like he respects him or something. 

Instead of pinning him to a wall and kissing him until Faraday’s lips are bruised, Vasquez holds up the pepper mill. “Empty,” is what he says.

Yeah, that damn spell didn’t do a thing, unless it was secretly a Spell of Disappointing Love After Twenty Years of Sexless Marriage. 

“Cupboard,” is Faraday’s flat answer, frowning when he hears the clatter of plates being set on the table and Emma teasing Sam. “Am I being robbed?”

“Not today,” Vasquez says, pressing a hand to the small of Faraday’s back as he leads him back to the kitchen. “We would do it in the middle of the night, make sure you didn’t see us coming.”

“V, if you wanna steal my underwear, you just gotta ask,” Faraday cracks with a grin, spreading his arms wide in greeting when Vasquez drags him into Faraday’s dining room and there stands a whole slew of friends. Red and Billy are already arguing about how spicy to make the beef, Emma is shaking her head as she sets out napkins, Teddy is texting (or working, the boy never stops trying to learn more to get better) and Sam’s looking at the lack of space between Faraday and Vasquez, like he knows something.

“Boys,” Sam greets. 

“When did I give you all a key?” Faraday complains, heading to the kitchen to fetch the pepper for Vasquez. The man in question follows him, leaning in so close that Faraday can feel his breath at the nape of his neck, which is so distracting that his brain sort of scrambles for a second and he wonders whether that little love spell backfired and affected _him_ , which isn’t fair because he’s already in love with Vasquez. 

“You gave me a key and I like our friends,” is Vasquez’s murmured response, adding a soft _gracias_ for the pepper as he works to refill it. Faraday heads off to be a decent host and talk to their friends while Vasquez cooks, mainly because this is one of the basic tenets of their friendship.

Well, it’s more Vasquez doesn’t trust Faraday not to make the kitchen explode and Vasquez hates it when Faraday makes “your bland Irish crap cuisine,” as he’d so lovingly labelled it, once. On the other hand, Vasquez never complains when Faraday provides the beer, which is as Irish as it comes. 

Emma comes over to hook her arm into Faraday’s, leading him away from where Billy and Red are setting the table. 

“Well?”

“Generally where water can be found,” Faraday replies with a winsome smirk. She doesn’t laugh, because she clearly doesn’t appreciate his jokes the way Vasquez does. Faraday always gets that low, rough, sexy laugh out of him whenever he makes one of his stupid jokes. 

“Ethel at yoga told me that Vas was staring at you the whole time,” she continues, giving him a pointed look.

Yeah, so the whole ‘Faraday being in love with Vasquez thing’? Not a secret to anyone but Vasquez, which is just the most ridiculous thing in the world, because he’s supposed to be a super observant lawyer, but he’s missing out on the stupid looks Faraday keeps giving him. 

“He was probably staring at the most handsome, debonair man in the world collapsing like an idiot during yoga,” Faraday replies, because he knows Vasquez hates when he doesn’t take his preferred hobby seriously. “Last night went long, I was hungover…”

“When aren’t you?” Billy mutters, to which Red replies with an equally hushed, “when he isn’t still drunk,” and Faraday would glare if it weren’t for the fact that they are not incorrect. 

“Shut up, okay?” he says, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Vasquez is elbow deep in getting the food ready. “I’m gonna do it right, I’m not gonna fuck it up!” he protests, which are famous last words considering he just cast an unsuccessful love spell to get the man of his dreams to look at him as more than just a potential one-night stand. 

“Not going to fuck what up?” Apparently, Vasquez is closer than Faraday thought. He turns to grab the bowl of shredded beef from him, glaring at their friends to warn them not to say a single word of the truth. If Vasquez can’t see it with his own eyes, Faraday doesn’t intend to hand it to him on a platter. 

“Nothing, my job, this girl I’m seeing,” he rambles, “My car! Dinner’s ready,” he says sharply, gesturing for everyone to sit their asses down at the table. 

Vasquez is staring at him with the sort of fond smile that makes him feel warm and punch-drunk, which means it’s Faraday’s cue to fuck it up. 

“What the fuck are you staring at? Goddamn Texican…”

Yeah, that works, all right, because now there’s no warmth at all in Vasquez’s expression apart from the fiery look in his eye that tells Faraday that he’s probably going to get himself punched before the night’s out. 

Faraday ignores the little voice in his head telling him that he’d deserve it and settles down to dinner as Sam passes around the wine and they fall into friendly conversation to catch up on things. Red stuffs his face at an ungodly speed, with Vasquez falling only a little behind him, but Faraday is more inclined to drink his sorrows away, staring across the table at Vasquez and trying to figure out his next move in the epic long game of failed courtship.

They’re heavy into seconds when things start to take a turn for the _weird_. Faraday genuinely hasn’t been doing much other than let the conversation wash over him while he stares at Vasquez helping himself to some cheese, his long fingers pinching it before he grabs for some veggies without using a serving fork. It earns him a rap on the knuckles from Emma, but the way he sucks his fingers after has Faraday so distracted that it takes him a while to notice that something’s taken a turn for the weird in the last few minutes.

There’s someone’s foot pressed against his, which isn’t weird to begin with. Faraday’s place is pretty small and the little dining room isn’t exactly a wealth of room, so he figures it’s just a side-effect of seven people trying to crush into one small room. It’s when that foot starts to climb a little higher, toes curling around his ankle and sliding up his calf that Faraday has to change his mind about it being unintentional. 

Speechless, Faraday’s fork clatters to the plate. He stares around the table for the culprit, but no one seems inclined to take the blame. The real shame of it is that it can’t be Vasquez, because as long-limbed as the man is, he’s sitting at the opposite side of the table, because Faraday takes one head of the table and Vasquez takes the other. That’s the rules for Faraday’s house.

“Problem?” Sam asks, so calm and knowing, and holy shit, is that Sam Chisolm playing footsie with him under the table? Clearly, everyone got together and decided to pull a quick one on Faraday, which would be funny if not for the fact that it’s genuinely freaking him out. 

“Me? Nah, I’m just full of solutions,” Faraday quips.

The sound of Emma’s laughter, loud and bright, makes Faraday knock over his beer. He’s never heard her laugh like that outside of one of Matthew’s bad jokes, but here she is, laughing at some stupid reply of his. Lucky for Faraday, he’s not the only one confused by all this, evidenced by the way Vasquez is staring at Emma like she just took the motherload of drugs. 

Holy shit. Holee shit. 

“Here,” Red says, tipping his plate to him and giving up _his last taco_ to Faraday, officially confirming that something weird is going on. Billy keeps staring at him with an intensity that Faraday isn’t entirely comfortable with and Teddy has actually put away his phone, his gaze fixed on Faraday’s lips with a fascination that Teddy Q should not harbor towards a man that hates his guts.

It's not…

It can’t be…

Oh, fuck, the love spell worked. 

Staring up, Faraday catches Vasquez’s eyes over the table and tries to find something more there. He’s looking for lust or love or something other than the confused, heated glare on his face. He knows Vasquez inside and out and that’s his ‘You fucked something up and I’m going to kill you, Josh’ look, which is normally pretty sexy, but right now, Faraday’s completely bamboozled by weird and feels more than a little off balance. 

How the hell did the love spell not work on the one person it was supposed to work on? Did Vasquez literally jump out of Faraday’s apartment just in time for those magic words to hit the air? Why is Billy looking at him like he wants to eat him whole? Why is Sam’s foot still traveling north? 

Faraday stands up, suddenly, not really sure what he plans to do next. Standing had seemed like the best idea at the time, but it’s escaping that he really need to do. 

“Josh,” comes Emma’s worried tone, while Teddy hurries to his feet. Lucky for Faraday, Vasquez is also on his feet and he’s got much longer legs and reaches his side first. “Are you okay?”

“You know what? I’ve got a hell of a headache,” Faraday says, which apparently is the wrong thing to say. Five voices start clamoring loudly, drowning each other out for the most, though Faraday catches a few choice snippets in there.

“Lavender! Lavender and…”

“I can massage your neck if you want…”

“Fucking helps a headache sometimes,” is from Billy Rocks, which just leaves Faraday thinking about how lucky he is that Goodnight isn’t here to hear his husband offering to fuck the headache out of Faraday’s skull. 

Apparently, Faraday isn’t the only one to have heard that either, seeing as that seems to be the last straw for Vasquez. He shoves Teddy off Faraday (Teddy isn’t really doing much harm so much as attempting to hook himself on like a limpet) and wraps a protective arm around his waist to steer him away from the table. Faraday’s brain is still in chaos, all white noise as he tries to think about how much Goody would kill him for not only being solicited by Billy, but also for the brief moment that he’d genuinely thought about taking him up on the offer. 

“He’s going to bed,” Vasquez snaps at their friends. “Out! _Andale!_ ”

They leave, though only because Vasquez has the look on his face like he’s about to haul out his rope and show off those hobby-lasso tricks of his. Normally, Faraday only thinks about them when he’s alone in bed with his hand and he needs a fantasy or two to get him going, but damn if the thought of Vasquez swooping in to save him from aggressive suitors isn’t a pleasant one. 

Emma gives Faraday a forlorn look as she leaves, Teddy insists that Faraday call him when he’s feeling better, Red and Sam just let their eyes linger a moment too long, but Billy goddamn Rocks is the one who chances Vasquez’s fury to lean in for a kiss that leaves Faraday stunned, the heated promise of, “Later,” from Billy barely heard over the fact that Faraday is still trying to process the fact that Billy, a married man, just kissed him in a way that would have teenage girls flushing.

Faraday turns to give Vasquez a wild, confused look, and isn’t at all expecting the gut-punched look on his face. 

“I should go, too,” he says, his voice rough. 

“No!” Faraday jumps at that. “No, don’t you dare leave me alone. Shit’s _weird_ , it’s real weird, and honestly, I’m not saying that Teddy is going to climb my drainpipe to try and give me a neck massage in the middle of the night, but, no, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he finishes, because at the rate tonight’s going, that’s probably on the docket of things that could happen. “Vas,” he pleads. “C’mon, stay. Please.”

“You sure you don’t want Billy?” Vasquez replies darkly.

Once upon a time, when Faraday was young and an idiot and before he’d known that Billy Rocks and Goodnight Robicheaux were a thing not to be interfered with, he’d watched Billy show off his knife-throwing skills and thought to himself that he’d like to take that man for a spin in bed. That’d been before he met Vasquez and figured out that the real altar of want he knelt at lead right up to that tall drink of water who’d hated him on first sight. 

Apparently the thought of Faraday and Billy together isn’t something Vasquez is too pleased with. The funny thing? For all that he’s thought about it before, now that it’s kind of happened, Faraday finds that he’s not too pleased, either.

It turns out that the only man he wants kissing him is the one looming over him, the one who looks crushed to have watched Billy and Faraday kissing. That ought to be good news, but he’s so rattled by all the events of dinner that Faraday doesn’t even see it. 

“Fine, I’ll stay,” Vasquez agrees, one hand on each of Faraday’s shoulders as he guides him towards the bedroom, not bothering to turn around as Faraday strips to his boxers. He sits down on the edge of Faraday’s bed to start prying off his boots. Okay, he’s taking back his earlier assumptions. Maybe the spell worked and Vasquez is just that smooth a motherfucker when it comes to his seduction. “I’ll sleep over the covers, like always.”

Or not, because Vasquez has passed out in Faraday’s bed more times than he can count, but they’ve always been too drunk to actually pay any attention to the fact that what they did probably wasn’t completely normal for platonic friends. 

Vasquez lies down, jeans, button-down, and all, facing away from Faraday’s usual sleeping position. Faraday makes sure that everything in his apartment is locked, from the door to the windows, and only when he’s mustered up the sheer blind bravery does he come back to lie in bed, mostly sober, with Vasquez barely a few feet from him. 

Whatever the hell is happening, at least it comes with a few unexpected perks.

Vasquez fell asleep quickly, already having rolled over and closer to Faraday, which means that Faraday is halfway to sleep with Vasquez breathing hard against his neck, with three sleepy thoughts rattling around Faraday’s mind. The first is that he’s managed to dig himself into one hell of a hole of trouble. The second is that he’s going to have to fight every instinct in his body not to turn over and curl into Vasquez’s body heat. 

The third and most terrifying thought of all?

He didn’t exactly win a spell to reverse all this bullshit off the Pigeon Brothers, now did he? In Faraday’s long, eventful life, he’s not sure he’s ever been this fucked before. This is a level of fuck up that even he didn’t know he could reach.


	2. Chapter 2

When Faraday wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty bed. For a moment, he can almost pretend that last night didn’t happen and that it had been a normal Tuesday. Then, he remembers that firm imprint of Sam’s foot on his leg, Billy’s lips on his, and Teddy’s hands on his torso. He also remembers Vasquez in bed with him, huffing soft little breaths and talking lightly in his sleep in Spanish. That’s a detail that Faraday didn’t need to know, because if he weren’t already stupidly head over heels for the man, that might have been the little nudge to push him over the edge. 

“Faraday!” 

Faraday groans as he tries to bury his head under his pillow, because he knows who that hellraiser shout belongs to. He doesn’t move because maybe if he’s quiet enough, Goody will leave his door and leave well enough alone. Unfortunately, what Faraday hasn’t counted on was the fact that Vasquez is still at his place.

“Josh,” Vasquez murmurs sleepily from the bedroom door, “Goodnight is trying to shout down your door,” he says, so apparently a sleepy Vasquez is also a ‘stating the obvious’ kind of Vasquez. 

Faraday lifts his pillow, opens his eyes, and belatedly kicks himself for walking into such an obvious trap. Vasquez is a beautiful goddamn mess with his hair all mussed up, a sleepy look on his face, and a cup of coffee held dearly between both hands. He’s stolen a pair of Faraday’s sweats and one of his hoodies and the whole thing makes Faraday feel like he’s still dreaming. 

He pinches himself hard enough that he hisses at the pain, but at least it confirms that this is happening.

“I know you’re in there, I’ve been here since dawn,” Goody keeps shouting. “Open the damn door!”

“Let us in, J,” comes Billy’s voice, which instantly makes this situation so much worse. 

Faraday is toying with the idea of shoving a pillow over his face and going out by way of suffocation when Vasquez rolls his eyes and sets his coffee down on the bedside table, letting out a string of Spanish profanity so impressive that Faraday thinks his mother is insulted somewhere and just doesn’t know why. Faraday makes a mental note to get Vasquez to teach him some of it, but he’s too tired to realize that Vasquez is letting them in. 

“Your neighbors will complain at the noise, otherwise,” Vasquez says when he comes back to the bedroom, shoving at Faraday’s ass with a heel to get him out of bed.

Whatever fight Goody’s come to pick might have to wait, because there’s a murderous look in Billy’s eyes as he looks between Faraday and Vasquez, his attention more solidly on the fact that Vasquez is in Faraday’s home at this early hour and wearing his clothes. Alarm bells start ringing in his head and Faraday reaches for his jeans and shirt, trying to calmly dress while trying to figure out if there’s a way to keep this whole situation from escalating.

“Do you know what I had to hear from my goddamn husband all night?” Goody is bitching while Billy stares at Vasquez like he’s trying to decide what knife to use on him. “Josh Faraday this and Josh Faraday that and hell if he didn’t moan your damn name when I had my mouth on his dick.” That angry little hiss that finishes Goody’s rant is kind of adorable, but Faraday’s not dumb enough to say that out loud. 

“I told you, I don’t want you any less,” Billy says, his gaze fixed on Faraday. “I just want him to join us.”

Goddamn if today isn’t full of tempting things, because that little offer is also a stray thought that Faraday’s pretty sure everyone’s had at some point in time. Before Goodnight and Billy met, Goody was one of the most sought-after actors in the business and Faraday won’t lie and say he didn’t have a magazine with Goody’s face on it tucked away for private matters when he’d been a teenager. Now, a producer, Goody isn’t lacking in looks these days, but that’s not the point. 

Billy’s close again, real close, having edged Vasquez away. His hand is down Faraday’s pants, yup, it’s wrapped around his dick, and Faraday doesn’t even know what the hell to do other than sort of just stand there, still, like Goody won’t see him if he doesn’t move. Goodnight reaches forward and hauls Billy back, setting a few feet of space between them.

“You take what’s mine, I take what’s yours, Faraday,” Goody warns. 

As far as his brain is concerned, that means that Goody’s after his car or maybe some of his better liquor, but what he doesn’t expect is the way Goody turns on Vasquez, all charm and smiles, and it’s not just Vasquez who clearly didn’t get the script pages here. 

“What?” Faraday complains. “He’s not mine!” 

Goodnight turns on him, as if to give him an _oh, really_ look. That’s when he turns back to Vasquez and slides in, all cozy, resting a hand on Vasquez’s hip, his fingers curling in tight and making something break in Faraday. That ought to be his hand, no one else is supposed to be touching him. 

“Joshua, what did you do?” Vasquez spits out, like Goody’s behavior is somehow on him. There may be a lot of craziness going on right now, but Goodnight Robicheaux is not his fault. Vasquez plucks Goody’s hand from his hip and pushes it away so he can storm over to Faraday, looming over him with the expectant look of a man who’s used to successfully interrogating the truth out of witnesses on the stand. 

Faraday’s seen it happen right before his eyes. It is a terrifying thing that isn’t to be doubted. He keeps backing up as Vasquez approaches, until Faraday is pinned to a wall and the debate in his heart lies between insisting that he didn’t have a hand in this disaster or copping to the truth. 

The latter wins when it’s increasingly clear that Vasquez won’t rest until he hears the truth. 

“All right, fine! I won this stupid thing off the Pigeon brothers in a card game, they told me it was a love spell, so I used it last night,” he rushes through his confession, skipping over some of the finer truths of why he’d used it, especially why he’d used it when he did. 

Vasquez cocks his head to the side, muttering heavy profanity under his breath.

“It’s not enough for you to have whatever man or woman you want in your bed with the right look?” he demands. “You weren’t happy with sleeping your way through the extras on set and the costumers and the single mothers at yoga?” They’re quickly approaching a point of no return, Faraday feels, and that’s confirmed when Vasquez throws a punch. 

He might be a dignified lawyer in court, but Faraday’s been in a few barfights with Vasquez, knows how hard he can pack a punch. He just never thought he’d be on the receiving end of one. He reacts instantly, absorbing the force of the blow before reaching out to grab Vasquez by the shoulders, using the extra weight and girth he has on the man to pin him to the wall with his weight on his toe, leaning it all forward to prevent Vasquez from escaping. 

“Let me go, _puta_ ,” Vasquez snaps. “Son of a bitch, you think you can seduce other men’s husbands away from them? You want to take Billy, you want Emma, you want everyone to be in love with you?”

Goody’s gone quiet, like Vasquez has picked up his train of thought and he’s got nothing to add, but in the corner of his eye, Faraday can see the way that Goody’s holding Billy back from intervening. 

Faraday presses forward, staring at the wild and lost look on Vasquez’s face, a look that he put there without meaning to, all because he fucked up and tried to use a love spell instead of doing the sensible thing and using normal words and actions. 

“Why do you keep wanting more?” Vasquez demands, and Faraday’s had enough. 

He's tired of his friends coming on to him. He’s sick and tired of Vasquez flirting with him only for Faraday to fuck it up, he’s tired of not knowing what to do, and yeah, okay, he fucked up, but it’s not the first and it won’t be the last time in Faraday’s life that he does. Still, he doesn’t think that means Vasquez gets to waltz in here and accuse him of sleeping around when he hasn’t slept with anyone in six months because he keeps thinking he’s going to get his shit together.

“I don’t want Billy Rocks or Red or Emma Cullen in my goddamn bed,” he snaps, the force of his hands against Vasquez’s shoulders increasing with every name, to the point that he's practically shoving the man like a rag doll against the wall. “I used a stupid love spell because the only man I’m in love with is you!” 

Faraday always expected the truth to come to light, one day, but he didn’t anticipate shouting it at Vasquez in the middle of a fight while two of their best friends watched (and one of those best friends was still trying to get into his pants). Still, he also didn’t expect the truth to come out and for Vasquez to be speechless. That practically never happens. 

Vasquez isn’t saying _anything_ and there’s this look of shock on his face, like he’s not sure how to process this information. 

“In fact, what the hell?” Faraday complains, releasing Vasquez as he leans back, shoving both hands through his hair. He knows that he probably doesn’t have any right to be upset about this, but he is. “The only reason I said any of those damn spooky witch-words was because they were supposed to work on you. Everyone else in my apartment got whammied, they’re all falling over themselves in love with me, but you’re punching me and calling me names! How come you don’t love me the way you’re supposed to?” he roars, merrily skipping the part where it would’ve been a coerced kind of love, maybe the kind that Faraday wouldn’t have been able to convince himself was real, in the long run.

“You want to know why?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I wanna know why it didn’t work,” Faraday snaps, poking Vasquez in the chest. “Why the hell aren’t you affected?”

“I’m already in love with you, _hijo de la gran puta_!”

“Hey! Don’t talk shit about my mother!”

“I’ll say whatever I want about her when you’re being such an idiot!”

Faraday opens his mouth to reply back with a few more creative insults, but stops short. Vasquez is looking at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Faraday’s brain to catch up. It does, real fast, but he still doesn’t expect the whiplash he feels when he registers exactly why the damn love spell didn’t work on Vasquez.

“You’re in love with me,” he echoes, already sounding smug. 

Vasquez pinches his nose and shakes his head. “No. No, I already regret this terrible decision.” 

“How long?”

“How long have we known each other? Take a few weeks off that, there’s your answer.”

Faraday opens his mouth to demand Goody and Billy get the hell out of there, because he's finally got his man and there’s any number of things he intends to do to him, when all hell breaks loose. His best laid plans are interrupted by the sound of Matthew Cullen at the unlocked front door. “Faraday, I’m gonna kill you for laying hands on my wife!” 

“Shit,” Faraday hisses, shoving Vasquez towards the window. “Fire escape, out, go!” Goody’s one thing, but he’s not the worst threat because Billy’s there and even if it’s a love spell at fault for making Billy so invested in Faraday’s well-being, Goody’s not going to do anything that hurts Billy. Matthew Cullen, spitting fury and indignation, that’s not the same story. 

Lucky for him, Vasquez is more than willing to jump out windows for the man he loves (no, Faraday isn’t going to stop crowing about that for some time) and he’s quickly after him once he grabs for his phone, wearing all of Faraday’s clothes and a pair of flip-flops. He crawls down with Faraday following, who glances up in time to see Matthew wielding what looks to be a very old gun that may or may not have belonged to Emma’s grandfather, once upon a time. 

“Not meaning to rush you, but move faster,” Faraday snaps at Vasquez. “Stop admiring the view!”

“It’s not that good, _cabrón_!”

“Shut your lying mouth, you said you’re in love with me, that means all of me, darlin’,” Faraday announces with glee, hitting the ground running as he shoves at Vasquez to keep moving before their touching epiphany is ruined by one or both of them getting shot in a jealous husband’s rage. “Head north, we gotta get to Jack’s place!”

“Horne? Why?”

“Because if anyone’s gonna have a way out of this mess, I figure it’s gotta be him.” 

That’s not the entire truth, but Red’s all fucked up right now and so’s Sam, which means that their strange friend is the best option they’ve got. He keeps running until they’re well clear of the apartment, which is when Faraday comes to a grinding halt. Vasquez didn’t seem to get the memo, still charging forward until he realizes Faraday isn’t at his side. 

“What?” Vasquez asks, clearly worried something happened as he doubles back to Faraday. “Did you get hit?” He drifts closer, those long fingers of his brushing over the place where he’d decked him earlier. “Apart from me,” he adds, with a smirk, as if he’s somehow proud of sucker-punching the man he’s in love with. 

Faraday has decided that enough is enough, and with Vasquez so close, he takes advantage of their proximity, pressing him up against the alley wall so that he can grab the hair at the nape of Vasquez’s neck and take what’s been teased in front of him for so long. 

“You fucker,” Faraday curses, in between sharp kisses up Vasquez’s neck, marking every inch with a nip and a suck, kissing it better after. “You really think I’d have cast a goddamn love spell just to get my hands on one of our friends?”

The noises Vasquez is making are enough to convince Faraday that they don’t need to do anything but lie low for awhile and maybe this will go away. Then again, he also has nightmares of Emma getting her gun off Matthew and murdering Vasquez in a jealous rage if she manages to find them. 

Faraday tangles his fingers in Vas’ hair, kissing him with all the pent-up desire and need he’s been storing up for years because Vasquez just admitted to being in love with Faraday, which means that he _was_ impacted by the spell. Faraday just managed to accidentally fall in love with someone whose affections involve a lot of profanity, punching, and clothes-stealing.

“You’re gonna keep those, incidentally,” Faraday notes, gesturing to what Vasquez is wearing. “In fact, new policy. No clothes around the house, my clothes when you go out, so you smell like me everywhere you go.”

“Just piss on me if you need to mark your territory,” Vasquez complains.

“Kinky, V,” Faraday replies. “Not into the golden showers, me, but maybe you could drag that lasso of yours out from the closet? There’s definitely some hogtying you could do around the house that I wouldn’t mind.” 

The sharp inhalation from Vasquez is promising, but apparently, all this talk isn’t enough to distract an ambitious man like him from their task. “Keep walking,” he says. “We need to see Jack, fix your fuck-up so I can fuck you.”

“Whoa, hey,” Faraday replies, shaking his head. “No. No, no, I’m the one who’s gonna be doing the fucking.”

“Maybe second round,” Vasquez says. “You spend all your time with your ass in the air during yoga, it gives a man some very stubborn ideas.” His long legs make it easy for him to get a lead on Faraday, but Faraday is no slouch when it comes to hauling ass to get away from his troubles. Right now, there’s no telling who’s on his tail, but he’s got a bad feeling Matthew’s leading the charge, but that shouldn’t rule out Sam, who is one terrifying man to tangle with and who’s been suspiciously silent. 

He's not sure he wants to know what kind of plans lie in store for Faraday if they don’t manage to fix this.

Faraday might be ready to put his determination to fix this first, but he’s clever enough to be able to multi-task, letting his eyes roam over Vasquez while he starts to let himself think about all those ideas he’d told himself not to entertain too deeply, seeing as it's not like the man would ever be interested. 

Lucky for him, he’d been as wrong as you can get about that. 

Vasquez looks just as determined to get this insanity behind them, which is kind of a turn on for Faraday, honestly. All that time spent in court watching Vasquez tear apart other people’s cases and bring otherwise stubborn witnesses to their knees has set him up for this kind of arousal, but he’s still not expecting the full, sheer weight of watching Vasquez in ambitious determined mode for _him_. 

One thing that Faraday is also trying hard not to think about is the fact that they might be walking out of the frying pan and into the fire. Sure, the scroll talked a lot about proximity, but what happens if they’re about to walk right up to Jack Horne, a man twice both their size, and he wants nothing more than to make Faraday his newest plaything. 

Shuddering at the thought of being crushed, he walks a little faster, impulsively and nervously tangling a hand through his hair in a way that makes it stick out in every direction. It’s also a nervous move that has Vasquez staring at him. In fact, there’s a lot of staring going on.

“What?” Faraday asks, defensively, as they reach the little stretch of land Horne calls his own, heading up to the little trailer designed to look like a cabin. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Vasquez says in a low tone that makes Faraday wish he had known, because he would’ve done a whole lot more of it. “Stop playing with your hair.” 

“Is there anything else I oughta know about?” Faraday asks with a smirk, standing on Horne’s steps and avoiding knocking. It’s not that he’s being a coward, it’s just that…okay, yeah, he’s absolutely being a coward, but he has no idea what to expect right now and that’s enough to make any man wary. 

Vasquez ascends the stairs beside him, tapping Faraday’s lower lip as he does. “This, when you bite it and make it all wet. Or when you smoke,” he adds. “Makes me think about your mouth on my dick.”

Well, now, that’s all Faraday is going to think about, too. 

“Goddammit, Vas,” Faraday curses, pouring all his frustrations into the way he pounds on Horne’s door, desperately trying not to let himself get all aroused with the thought of being on his knees doing exactly that.

_Please, please, god, don’t be affected by my idiot spell_ , Faraday sends off one quick prayer to the heavens as he hears Horne’s heavy footsteps approaching the door. 

He ends up half behind Vasquez when Horne opens the door, looking between the two of them with the suspicious look of a man who wants to know which of them fucked up. 

“Which one of you did it?” comes the mild, yet plenty accusatory question.

“How did you know something’s wrong?” Vasquez asks, clearly more curious than Faraday, who’s currently having a private little celebration over the fact that Horne doesn’t seem to want to jump on his dick like the rest of their friends do. 

Horne’s gaze slides over to Faraday and okay, maybe seduction would be better than the really scathing disappointed look he’s getting. “Got a call from Sam, he’s working out strategy on how to earn your heart.” At the mention of Sam’s name, Faraday impulsively looks over his shoulder, like he can be summoned by nothing more than one use of it. “You did something.”

“Yes, he did,” Vasquez agrees darkly. Between Horne and Vasquez being pissed at him, Faraday figures there’s nothing to do but ride out this storm until they stop being pissed at him. “He also needs help.”

“Jack, I thought the thing was a stupid joke,” Faraday steps up to plead his case. “I mean, okay, so maybe a part of me was hoping it wasn’t so I could snag this one’s heart,” he says with a gesture at Vasquez with his thumb.

Horne gives a mild snort. “I could’ve told you that you didn’t need a love spell for that.”

“Thanks,” is Faraday’s snapped retort. “Wanna rub more salt in the wound?”

“He needs help,” Vasquez reiterates, pressing a hand on Faraday’s chest when he starts to surge forward, like he intends to fight Horne in a fit of stubborn glory for taking the piss out of him. “I know he’s stupid, I know he’s rash…”

“I know he’s standing right here,” Faraday snaps, glaring at Vasquez with a look that says he’s starting to wonder if the man is actually in love with him at all. “Easy with the insults, would you?”

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Vasquez finishes, moving his hand to Faraday’s shoulder to give him a calming squeeze that, annoyingly, does work to settle his nerves. 

Horne sighs and there’s an impressive amount of weariness in that one sound. Then again, if Faraday got to Horne’s age and had to deal with a group of friends like theirs day in and day out, he’d probably start sighing like that, too. “Where’s the spell?” Horne asks. 

Vasquez looks at Faraday expectantly, but Faraday doesn’t know why?

“Why would I have it on me? I didn’t think it worked, so I threw it away!”

Vasquez pinches the bridge of his nose and curses Faraday’s intelligence, all while Faraday remains stubbornly defiant about the fact that he shouldn’t have been expected to keep the damn thing. 

“Wait,” he says, “wait, I don’t have it, but I know where it is,” he offers, like that’ll hopefully get him out of the doghouse. Now, he’s just extra pleased with himself that he didn’t end up burning the damn thing. 

“Where is it?” Vasquez demands.

Faraday makes a face because he already knows that they’re not going to like this answer. “Back at my place?” Wow, look at that synchronized glaring. Faraday thinks that Vasquez and Horne shouldn’t be hanging out so much that they can do that. “C’mon, you’ve got your truck, right?” Faraday says to Horne. “We’ll lie down in the back real nice and quiet and you can get the spell!”

Horne mumbles about how that’s not the worst plan he’s ever heard, heading back inside to get his keys. 

Vasquez is looking at Faraday with a smug look and a grin like he’s just won the lottery. It’s definitely better than the glare, but is suspicious in how quickly Vasquez has changed moods.

“What?” Faraday asks, suspicious of that happiness.

“We’ll just lie in the back?” 

Faraday will deny to his grave that the tips of his ears go a little red, but they do. Vasquez will confirm that they do. “Horne’s truck isn’t so small that you’re gonna need to lie on top of me,” he replies. 

Vasquez shrugs, says, “We’ll see,” and Faraday instantly knows he’s going to end up with Vasquez on top of him. Horne comes back out with his keys and a goddamn taser.

That seems to alarm Vasquez just as much as Faraday. “Is that really necessary?”

“Well, say we do come across some of your admirers,” Horne says, “you want me to punch ‘em?”

“Yeah! Better than a taser!” Faraday replies, pointing to the house. “Put that back, we’re not hurting anyone. More than I might have already hurt them with an unintentional love spell,” he clarifies, seeing as he already knows he’ll be making up for this for a very long time to come. 

Horne, thankfully, puts the damn taser back inside and locks up, bringing the boys to his truck. Vasquez does exactly as he’d threatened, settling Faraday in the back before lying down on top of him, giving Horne a thumbs-up and pinning Faraday to the seats like they’re about to roll around and get to third base right here while Horne’s driving.

“Josh,” Vasquez murmurs, like he’s disappointed when he feels the press of Faraday’s dick against his hip after a few bumps brings their bodies close together.

“What the fuck do you expect?” Faraday complains viciously angling his hips up like he intends to make Vasquez do something about it. That plan isn’t very well thought-out, considering Horne is a few feet away. 

“Boys,” is Horne’s mild reproach. 

“That takes care of that,” Faraday sighs, staring down at his diminishing erection, almost impressed. He absently presses a hand to the small of Vasquez’s back, trying to keep his mind on the objective as they make the short drive to his apartment. 

Once Horne parks, he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. “Keys?”

“I didn’t exactly grab them,” Faraday confesses. “Window’s open?”

Horne mutters under his breath. “Stay here, don’t move, I’ll be back.” Then, he’s lumbering out of the car and starting to climb the fire escape, leaving Faraday with Vasquez still lying on top of him. He doesn’t want to think about who might be camped out around his apartment, waiting for their chance to win his heart. Worse, he doesn’t want to think about Goodnight and Matthew out there, waiting to make him pay for his idiocy. 

Faraday breathes out slowly, wishing that his thoughts hadn’t taken a turn for the serious, because with Horne gone, he’s pretty sure he could manage to get Vasquez off with his very talented hands before he gets back. 

“Where did you go?” Vasquez murmurs, staring down at him.

“I don’t think it’s a secret that I’ve fucked up a lot before, but this one’s staggeringly bad.”

Vasquez gives a noise of agreement. “You could have just talked to me,” he admits. “I would have told you that I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I also watched you date and sleep with so many people that I didn’t think that you wanted me.”

“I always figured you were just after one night,” Faraday admits. In the beginning, he would’ve been happy to claim that and nothing more, but during the Bogue case, they’d spent so much time together that Faraday had quickly realized that he’d wanted so much more. “I was with other people because I figured I didn’t have a shot with you.”

“Now, you know better,” Vasquez says. 

“Yeah, I just had to make a huge mess to get there.” Faraday pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing he hadn’t ever recited those stupid words, even if it did get him here, to where he’s lying under Vasquez. “If Horne helps us fix this,” Faraday says, leaning hard on that ‘if’, “how the hell do I make it up to them?”

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help,” Vasquez vows. “I’m a better talker than you are, anyway.”

“Bullshit,” Faraday accuses, “I can talk my way out of the worst messes.”

“Yes, and create new ones.”

“That was one time!”

“Better if I do the sensible talking, you do the groveling right after,” Vasquez says, but now Faraday’s honor is on the line and he can’t have people implying that he can’t charm and bullshit his way out of a bad situation. Then again, these are their friends and he needs to be sincere and honest. 

Maybe it is smarter to let Vasquez do the talking. Faraday has a bad habit of his sincerity coming off as sarcastic. 

The knock on the truck window makes Faraday jump, but it’s just Horne trying to give him a heart attack. Lucky for Faraday, he’s also got a crumpled piece of parchment in his hands. 

“Praise the Lord,” Faraday says as Horne gets back in the car. “Well? Do you think you can help?”

Horne smooths out the crumpled spell and reads over the inscription at the top in English before going over the words. Then, he does what Faraday hadn’t thought to do in the whole time he had the damn thing. He _turns it over_. Faraday already knows what’s coming, he sees it, he knows it, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to feel any less of an idiot when Horne points it out. 

“Didn’t you turn it over?”

Vasquez glares at Faraday, muttering some very unkind things about Faraday in Spanish under his breath. 

“It didn’t exactly read anything on about ‘see other side’!” he protests. “Look, do you think it’s going to work?”

“It’ll work,” Horne says, sounding fairly sure. “One trouble, though.”

“What trouble?” Vasquez demands.

“Proximity.”

Shit, that is what the scroll said. “Well, how the hell am I supposed to get five of them to get their asses over here without also having Goodnight and Matthew kill me at the same time?” Faraday demands. Vasquez, to his credit, is already digging out his cell phone that he'd grabbed in their exodus, texting while Faraday is bitching. “What, wait, what are you doing?”

“Telling Billy and Sam that you are here,” he says. “Texting Matthew and Goodnight that I need twenty minutes and I will solve it. Now,” he says, thumbs working over the screen, “I am telling Emma that you are shirtless, Teddy that you need a massage, and I just told Red to stop hiding in the bushes.”

Faraday is staring at Vasquez like he’s thinking about a quick one in the backseat before they get out there and solve this, but Horne’s pointed look is enough to get him to grab the scroll so he can flip it over and mouth at the words while he waits. It doesn’t exactly do the whole trick, because he can only go about ten seconds before he wonders if Vasquez will be equally take-charge in the bedroom. 

“Stop it,” Vasquez says, like he can read Faraday’s mind. 

“If you think that I’m not gonna stare at you like I want to fuck every time you get scary efficient, we’re going to have to have us a talk about setting relationship expectations.”

Vasquez grins like he’s charmed by that, and, really, who wouldn’t be? He both wants to get out there and finish this, but he also wants to go nowhere at all, because Vasquez has slipped his hands just below the waistband of Faraday’s jeans is absently stroking his thumbs up and down the bare skin at his hips. 

“Okay, I see ‘em all,” comes Horne’s mild voice from the front seat, which means that they were probably all nearby or on their way to make their play for Faraday’s affections. “You’re up, Faraday.” 

“I mean, we could just move to another country,” he suggests to Vasquez. “You’re always wanting to go back to Mexico!”

Vasquez rolls his eyes and takes his hands out of Faraday’s pants, shoving Faraday out the door, which he turns into a graceful slide. Vasquez wanders out after him, looming with his back to Faraday’s like they need to be protected from all sides. They really are all there, causing a ruckus right outside Faraday’s apartments. Billy and Goodnight are arguing, Matthew still looks like he wants to shoot him, and Sam is walking towards him with the kind of purpose that Faraday suspects ends in a kiss that he’s not ready to process.

He stares down at the parchment, makes sure he has the right side (he really doesn’t need an even broader net of people in love with him) and rushes through the words so fast that they’re practically gibberish.

“Do it right,” Vasquez hisses at him, when Emma starts unbuttoning her shirt and the counter-spell clearly didn’t do anything.

“Fuck!” Faraday swears. “Motherfucker, son of a…” 

He keeps one eye closed as he stares down at the scroll and does it properly, really sounding out some foreign jumbly words as best as he can, finishing it with a triumphant, “I hope you’re fucking happy!” he shouts, skywards, like whatever magic caused this lives up there. He mutters another hearty curse against the Pigeon Brothers for bringing this mess on in the first place, then he goes quiet and waits. 

He turns his attention to the scene around him and Faraday isn’t joking when he thinks that he might just cry in relief. Emma’s shirt is being buttoned up by Matthew and asking why the hell she’s trying to get naked in public. Red’s already checking his watch and muttering about getting breakfast, and Sam is quick on his heels to get out of there before they actually have to _talk_ about this. Teddy looks more humiliated than Faraday has ever seen a man look (and feels vindictively happy to see it) and Billy is just looking at Faraday like he’s still considering making a move. 

“You can thank me later,” is all Horne says before he gets back in his truck and drives away. 

“You did it,” Vasquez says, sliding away from Faraday’s back to face him, grinning like a man who just won an impossible fight when, come on, Faraday had done most of the work here. “I mean, it was all your fault to begin with, but you solved it.” He’s looking at Faraday like he’s the only thing in the world, which is a heady thing to get used to.

That damn love spell might have caused a disaster, but it also gave him Vasquez at his side, fighting to fix it the whole time.

Faraday doesn’t have eyes for anyone else, even if he can hear their friends milling around, complaining heavily about what Faraday did. 

“Everybody’s got five minutes to clear out of this place, or else you’re watching,” Faraday announces, not daring to take his eyes off Vasquez for a second. He looks damn good in Faraday’s clothes, but Faraday also knows that he’s going to look much better getting stripped of them, piece by piece. “I’ll start making it up to you tomorrow.”

“You can start making it up to me right now,” Vasquez promises, with a filthy grin. 

Of that, Faraday is assured he can.

* * *

Two months later, Faraday is happy to say that he hasn’t fucked up his relationship with Vasquez yet. He’s even managed to take him on a few really great dates and the sex? Well, Faraday will just say that sex with Vasquez has exceeded all expectations. The only trouble is that their friends won’t stop complaining when they start acting like a couple in front of them. He says, ‘acting like a couple’, but generally, he more means ‘getting his hands on Vasquez and making up for lost time’. 

You accidentally cast one love spell on most of them and apparently, they don’t let you live it down, always coming after you with insults to your looks and your character and Vasquez’s taste in men.

“How do you deal with being attracted to him all the time?” Red complains to Vasquez, still incredibly bitter about being affected by a love spell that made him experience lustful feelings towards Faraday. He knows this, because Red doesn’t let a single day pass without complaining about it, to the point that there have been days when it gets texted to him at nearly midnight because Red forgot to mention it earlier. “It’s not right, it felt all wrong, here,” he says, pressing a fist to his heart.

Currently Vasquez is sitting in Faraday’s lap, resting comfortably on one thigh like it’s a saddle and Faraday’s his horse to ride. Faraday isn’t about to boast to the group about it, but they’ve definitely played a few games revolving around them both being cowboys and saving a few horses, not to mention letting Vasquez show off his skills with a lasso.

“How long until he breaks up with him?” Red asks Billy, sounding way too serious for it to be a joke. 

Faraday’s eyes flash with worry and he glances up at Vasquez. “He wouldn’t. The sex is too good, plus, I mean, he had tons of chances to break up with me already and he would’ve done it when I accidentally shrunk his favorite vest.” His gaze turns a little more alarmed when Vasquez isn’t replying, which is just like that fucker to wind Faraday up. “You wouldn’t, would you? I mean, after all the shit we went through just to get here, you wouldn’t…”

“I suppose he isn’t the worst boyfriend in the world to have. Not the best, obviously,” Emma cuts him off, with a lovelorn smile tipped over her shoulder at Matthew. 

“I don’t know,” Vasquez says, with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to play this all off as nonchalant when the whole effect is ruined by the dazed smile he’s been wearing for nearly two months, like he’s still convinced he’s the luckiest man in the world. “He’s not so bad looking, not really. I think, maybe, I’ll keep him.”

“See!” Faraday leaps to his own defense. “See? I am the world’s handsomest, most debonair…”

“Shh,” says Vasquez, pressing a hand over Faraday’s mouth to stop him from talking, but he ought to know that’s not a good plan. Lucky for him, Vasquez can interpret what that mischievous look in Faraday’s eye means and leans in to kiss him with the kind of passion that makes Faraday forget they’ve got company, letting Vasquez slide completely into a straddle in his lap, the rest of the world bleeding away.

“Well, now,” Goodnight sighs, “he’s gone quiet, but we have to watch that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Billy replies, arching a brow, “it’s not a bad show with that view of Vasquez’s ass.”

Now, Faraday is fairly sure that Billy’s just trying to get a rise out of Goodnight, but at the same time, he doesn’t rightly care when Billy Rocks is telling the god’s honest truth, seeing as Faraday is convinced there’s nothing prettier in the world than Vasquez with both hands tangled in Faraday’s hair, kissing him like he needs to suck the soul out of him. 

Vasquez definitely isn’t breaking up with him, but just in case, Faraday feels like he ought to use a little more tongue.

* * *

“Something’s not right.”

Faraday’s got an odd look on his face, like he’s trying to push down some tingling sensation that something is going wrong and he can’t put his finger on it. Eventually, he’s going to figure out what Emma already knows; his unease is being brought on by the fact that they’re at the beach and Vasquez just took off his shirt to rub sunscreen onto his torso in slow, thorough rubbing motions. _Everyone_ is staring at him and Emma imagines that Faraday is imagining dastardly plans coming from each of them to make a move on his boyfriend. 

“Didn’t he learn from me being a jackass?”

“Hmm?” Emma’s on her stomach, half-asleep despite the fact that she’s got a romance novel on page fourteen open beneath her hands. She turns her head towards Faraday, her gigantic hat keeping her from burning her unfortunately pale god-given complexion. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“That!” Faraday sputters, angrily, at how two lifeguards have come up to Vasquez to start commenting on his physique, touching him all over his defined muscles. “He should know by now that using a love spell is a stupid idea.”

It's the kind of stupid reserved for Joshua Faraday, thinks Emma with a roll of her eyes.

Emma sighs with sympathy and slides off her red-rimmed sunglasses to give him a look that clearly asks if he’s the stupidest man in the world and he’s just catching on to it. “Faraday, honey,” Emma says, her eyes on Vasquez as he turns and waves at them with a blinding smile, shucking off his pants to uncover a very revealing tight boxer-brief style swimsuit. She didn’t think she’d have to level some truth at Faraday, but looks like she’d been mistaken. “This is just a normal Saturday for him.”

Faraday doesn’t reply, but he looks personally offended, as if no one else should notice that Vasquez would be right at home in the pages of a fashion magazine. Then again, Vasquez has also turned his attention back towards their little umbrella set-up to wave at Faraday. Emma truly believes that no one should be capable of retaining the power of speech when that sculpted frame of perfection is staring at you and smiling like you’re the one who put the sun and stars in the sky. 

“Damn it,” Faraday hisses, when it looks like some of the bikini-clad girls have noticed Vasquez, too. “V! Get your ass back under our umbrella before I start doing things you won’t like!”

“Oh, I won’t like them, will I? _Cabrón_ , I don’t think you know what I don’t like.”

“Yeah? I’m gonna show you, if you’re not careful.” 

There goes Faraday marching after his man, using sheer brute force to get him back under the umbrella, where it turns into a wrestling match between the two of them over an argument about sunscreen and how many places Faraday missed on his body, much to the other man’s disagreement. 

Emma sets aside her romance novel, careful not to get it sandy. The story on the pages seems _painfully_ boring compared to the show in front of her. 

“Vasquez, you missed a spot,” she says as she points at Faraday’s impressive back, settling back to watch Vasquez get his big hands all over Faraday’s body, rubbing sunscreen on him while looking at him like he’s trying to figure out where the nearest private bathroom is. 

This is definitely more entertaining than any of her reading material and she’s not ashamed to say it. 

“That’s it,” she encourages, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Good boys,” she praises, as she drifts back to that half-sleeping state as Vasquez starts to rub sunscreen all over Faraday’s thighs, smirking at Faraday’s yelp about cold hands.

Faraday might not have served his penance fully for that love spell of his, but given days like today, he’s definitely making real progress.


End file.
